


Not All Treasure Is Silver and Gold

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Pirates, Porn With Plot, crackfic, not nearly as fluffy as I thought it would be, seriously what the heck happened here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8391514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: So this was supposed to be fun on the high seas with Captain Phryne Fisher of La Belle Dame and her “hostage” (who is really an undercover British Naval agent) Lieutenant Jack Robinson. Somehow, what was supposed to be a short little foray into life (and sex) aboard ship turned into something unexpectedly bigger. I’m a little sorry about that, actually! I was looking forward to fluff! Anyway, if you want to read the beginning of this piratey saga, check out Chapter 2 of Eternally Phryne and Jack.
For Collingwoodgirl on her birthday - it’s not the gorgeous, lyrical prose that you write, my dear, but I hope it helps make your birthday happy! ♥





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CollingwoodGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/gifts).



Lieutenant Jack Robinson woke slowly, breathing in the scent of his bed partner, perfume and sweat and sex plus an indefinable aroma that was hers alone. He smiled. Captain Fisher—Phryne—was an enthusiastic lover, and he appreciated her attentions whenever he was given the opportunity to share her bed. In the three weeks—no, four, he was losing track of time aboard this ship—since he’d become a passenger on _La Belle Dame_ and they’d had their first “briefing,” he’d been invited to her bed (or chair or table or floor) several times a week, in and around his duties aboard ship. By now,  waking next to her was becoming perilously close to a habit.

Propping himself on one elbow, he looked at her for a moment. The captain slept on her stomach just now, her black hair mussed around her face and her bare back fairly glowing in the sunshine pouring in through the window. Jack gazed down at her, feeling his body stir at her proximity. It was always this way—he had wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her, and having had her, wanted her more.

It wasn’t just physical, though, at least for him. He admired her—she was an excellent captain. Her crew was immensely loyal to her—he’d endured the hard stares and raised eyebrows of several crew members from his first days on board. He knew that his sexual relationship with Phryne was an open secret, and he was certain that if he misbehaved, he’d take a pummelling from everyone on board before being tragically “swept out to sea.” They didn’t need to worry, though. He cared for her, and he planned to enjoy every moment that he was given with her. His lips quirked in a small smile as Phryne shifted beside him, sighing in her sleep.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the base of her neck, resting one large hand on her lower back, where the sheets covered her bottom. Her skin was warm from the sun and he trailed his lips slowly, kiss by kiss, down her spine, hoping to arouse her even before she woke.

She hummed in pleasure as he kissed his way down her back, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns on the velvety softness of her skin. He pushed the covers off as his mouth reached them, exposing the dimples that sat on either side of the base of her spine. He pressed a kiss to each one, his tongue darting out to feel the indentations; he stroked her buttocks, his hand dwarfing her petite frame. When he dipped his fingers between her thighs to dance over the flesh of her sex, she shifted, opening her legs to give him access. He stroked her, feeling the moist heat of her get wetter as his fingers traced and teased.

“Jack…” her voice was little more than a whisper, but she lifted her hips and slid her knees farther apart to give him better access.

Jack smiled against her skin and took the opportunity she presented him to slide a fingertip inside her. She was damp, but not yet wet enough for his liking, so he continued his seduction, his fingers pressing and stroking, pinching and squeezing at her sensitive flesh. He rested his weight on the side of his chest and slid his other hand under her torso to cup her breast, loving the way that she arched her back to give him sufficient room to maneuver.

Before too long, she was gently pumping her hips against his invading fingers—two now, and he judged her nearly ready for three—and he could see her hands clenching at the sheets as she strove to reach her peak.

“Turn over, Phryne,” he whispered, and she shuddered but obeyed, letting her legs fall open to expose her sex to the morning sunlight.

Jack caught his breath at the image of the moisture on her black curls sparkling like diamonds in the light. He paused for a moment, marveling at her beauty, and at her confidence in her body. She was confident in everything, it seemed—she knew her worth as a captain, as an intellectual, and as a woman. It was incredibly attractive.

“Jack?” Her voice was sleepy, and she looked up at him from heavy-lidded eyes. Her skin glowed with health, alabaster and clear except for a sprinkling of freckles across her shoulders and down between her breasts.

With a growl, he moved to lie between her legs, sliding his hands under her ass to lift her to his mouth. She caught her breath as he used his lips and tongue on her already sensitive flesh.

“Jack!” His name this time was a demand, and she lifted her legs to drape them over his shoulders. Her hands lifted to his head, sliding into his hair and clenching.

Jack smiled and redoubled his efforts, stiffening his tongue to press it inside her body. Her flavors flooded his mouth—salt and sweat and a sweetness that was _Phryne_. He slid one hand around her hip so that he could press his thumb to her clitoris, the rest of his hand spreading over her pubis to hold her to his mouth. She was having trouble keeping her hips still, it seemed, and he knew that a little restraint would help send her into orgasm.

He was right. With a wail, she came, her legs shaking and her body stiffening; Jack kept his thumb pressed to her clit and his tongue moving until her shaking stopped. Releasing her, he looked up her body, past the peaks of her heaving breasts, to see her face. She panted, her mouth open and smiling. After a moment, she lifted her head to meet his eyes.

“You look very smug,” she said, her voice breathy.

“Do I?” He tried to change his expression, but knew that he hadn’t completely succeeded when she laughed.

“I suppose you have reason, Jack.” Her hands still buried in his hair, she tugged. “Get up here.”

Obeying, he moved to let her legs fall to either side of his body and crawled up to cover her mouth with his. She kissed him avidly, licking the stickiness of her own fluids off of his mouth before going back to kiss him again. He dove into the taste of her, sweeping his hand up to cup her breast as he settled between her thighs, his cock nestling against her sex as their mouths worked. She wrapped herself around him, one arm moving to his shoulders, the other remaining buried in his hair; she bent her knees to press her thighs against his sides, one calf lifting to cross his lower back. And still she kissed him.

Jack loved kissing Phryne. She threw herself into every kiss, threading her hands into his hair or stroking them down his back to urge him against her; she used her lips and tongue and teeth to make every kiss an event, and Jack was happy to be invited.

He pressed himself against her, feeling the moisture between her legs against his groin and the hard points of her nipples against his chest. Phryne shifted her hips and he felt her hand descend between them to nudge him inside her body. Jack groaned into her mouth as he pushed into her wet heat. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d spent more nights in her bed than not since he’d come aboard; every time he fucked her felt like a revelation.

Phryne wrapped her legs around his, resting her feet against his calves as he began to move. At first, it was small strokes and pulses as they continued to kiss. He pressed his pelvis against hers with each entry, circling his hips as he held himself deep in an effort to stimulate her clitoris. He knew that he’d found a pressure point that worked when Phryne moaned into his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders and his scalp.

As his urgency built, his attention narrowed to the slide of his cock into her body, the muscular pulses of her channel as she grasped him with each thrust, and the sucking release of each withdrawal. He caught her knees, first one and then the other, and pushed them up to open her to him more completely; feet hooked over his shoulders, she groaned as his thrusts grew more powerful and his angle more accurate.

He planted his fists on the mattress beside her hips and lifted his chest from hers, spreading his knees for purchase against the silky sheets. He pounded into her, his chin falling to his chest as he watched himself disappear into her body over and over again.

“Phryne…” his voice was gravelly and lower even than usual. He pushed hard inside her, circling his hips against her. “I’m close. Are you close?” He began to thrust again, slowly and deliberately, each long stroke ending with a circular press of his hips against her.

“Oh god, so close,” she panted. She gripped his arm with one hand and he watched as she slid the other between her legs. He felt her fingers brush his stomach and the sensation pulled a groan from his chest. Phryne’s lips curved and she pushed her hand down, loosely wrapping her fingers around the base of his shaft. With each motion of his hips, he could feel the ring of her fingers as an additional pressure against his balls; within a few thrusts, he could no longer hold off. Pulling out of her body, he pressed his fingers over her clit as her hand turned on his cock to pump up and down his shaft. As orgasm rolled over him in a wave, he spilled across her skin, her name on his lips and his fingers sliding against her to bring her to a second peak.

Jack collapsed against her, feeling his seed cooling between them, and covered her mouth with his. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as Phryne wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him close, her pleasured hums a warm pressure against his lips. When Jack tried to shift aside, she protested, her arms tightening around him.

“I’m too heavy,” he murmured.

“You’re not,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. “Just stay a little.”

He nodded, his throat tight, and kissed her again, softly. She sighed, and buried her nose in his neck; he dropped his head to press his lips to her shoulder. He’d never seen Phryne’s eyes so soft, and although she liked to cuddle after sex, this seemed like more, somehow.

His heart pounded for a different reason now. Could it be that she felt more for him than lust? He knew that she had snuck into his heart, but he had reason—she was larger than life, her assured manner in her command equalling that in the bedroom. He might even love her. If she cared for him, though, it would be nothing short of miraculous. He was a good man, a good officer, but he was ordinary in a way that she wasn’t.

He caught his breath. And he was leaving—he had to leave when they found the _Victory_ and he delivered his message. And even if he didn’t have to leave, he was a married man. It didn’t matter that he’d spent more time at sea during his marriage than he had at home, and when he was at home, his wife was practically a stranger to him. He already had that bond. Publicly tying himself to Phryne would dishonor Rosalind and himself. But if he could…

He pressed his lips to Phryne’s shoulder. If he could, he would stay with her. He’d spent the past four weeks as part of her command crew, for all that he was sworn to the Royal Navy; the reports he’d prepared for his command captain were thorough and glowing about the work she and her crew were doing in the name of the crown. But he’d be her cabin boy if that was all that was offered to him, he knew it. So he’d make the most of every moment he had with her now, and store up the memories for when he went back to his post.

Phryne turned her head and kissed his cheek; he lifted his face to meet her lips in a tender kiss. She purred against his mouth, her hands stroking his back. He felt himself hardening again—what this woman did to him!—and he cupped her breast with one hand, his thumb and forefinger lightly pinching her nipple. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She kissed him back, her tongue sliding against his and her hips shifting against him.

A growl rang through the still morning air. Jack and Phryne stilled, and Jack raised his head to look at her sheepishly. His stomach rumbled again, and Phryne laughed. He joined her, dropping his head to her shoulder again and his hand from her breast as her caressing hands moved to squeeze him.

“Breakfast, then, Jack?” Phryne’s voice was indulgent and filled with laughter.

“I think it’s a good idea.” He lifted his head again, smiling down at her. “I need my strength to keep up with you, captain.”

“True. I have plans for you, lieutenant. Let’s go see what Mr. Butler has prepared today, shall we?” She leaned up to give him a quick, affectionate peck on the mouth even as he rolled away from her, then got up, walking unselfconsciously across to her water closet.

Jack followed, leaning against the doorway as she wet a cloth in the basin. She handed that cloth to him and pulled out another, dunking it as well. They cleaned themselves up, quickly and companionably, before moving to gather their clothing for the day.

Phryne pulled on her black breeches and then her white shirt, overlapping the shirt placket as she buttoned a blue vest across her midriff; Jack had already donned his buff-colored breeches and white shirt—he’d begun leaving off the vest after the first few days, rank be damned—and he slid his feet into his tall boots. She stomped into her own boots, then quickly tidied her hair into a short queue at the back of her neck. Jack did the same, and they smiled at their similarities.

“After you,” Jack said as they reached the door to her cabin.

Phryne gave him a cheeky grin. “You just like to walk behind me when I’m wearing breeches.”

“Guilty,” he responded, his own smile a small thing. As she passed him, he ran a hand over her bottom, and she shot him a sly look over one shoulder.

“Later, lieutenant,” she said, her eyes laughing at him. He sketched a small, acquiescent bow and swept out an arm to indicate that she should lead the way.

Breakfast was delicious. It surprised Jack every time—Phryne’s ship’s cook was an older man with a genial air who managed the kitchen and the ship’s stores with aplomb. The crew and the officers were all served porridge regularly, and though Jack was ordinarily not fond of the stuff, Mr. Butler’s was perfect—smooth and warm and studded with dried fruit and nuts.

“Excellent meal, Mr. Butler, as usual,” he said as he washed out his bowl and spoon.

“Thank you, lieutenant,” Mr. Butler replied, his blue eyes twinkling with good humor. He handed Jack a small packet, which Jack slid into his pocket with a smile.

“And what is that?” As they climbed the steps to the ship’s deck, Phryne glanced back over her shoulder at Jack. “Are you subverting my cook, lieutenant?”

“No!” Jack’s smile was wide. “He noticed that I tend to need a snack midmorning and offered to make me a packet, that’s all. Keep me at my duties instead of interrupting his meal preparations.”

Phryne laughed, shaking her head. “Where you put all of that food, I have no idea, Jack Robinson.”

“Well, you do tend to keep me working hard,” he reminded her, stroking a hand up her thigh out of sight as she took the last step up.

“There’s plenty to do, lieutenant,” she reminded him. “Abovedecks as well as below.” She turned and strode toward the ship’s wheel, where her second in command waited.

Dorothy “Daggers” Williams was a fine figure of a woman. She eschewed the male attire that her captain wore so well in favor of a skirt that stopped mid-calf, showing off her high boots, and a blouse and vest that did nothing to hide her ample bosom. Today’s outfit was a mixture of pale pink and warm brown, and it was very fetching against the golden-brown curls of her hair. She’d pulled the long locks back from her face with a folded scarf that blew in the wind, her fair cheeks pink and pretty in the sun.

Jack knew that the midshipman he’d chosen to accompany him on this mission, a handsome and strangely innocent young man by the name of Hugh Collins, was completely smitten by Daggers, whose sweet and innocent air was misleading at best. If Collins had made any headway in his pursuit of the lady, it would only be because she allowed it. To hear the crew tell it, Daggers had gotten her nickname from her facility with the weapon, though Jack thought it was likely that the fact that she could quell a fight with nothing but a look also played into it.

Jack glanced across the deck to locate Collins as he climbed the ladder to the upper deck behind Phryne. His midshipman had taken a fair bit of ribbing from the privateer’s crew in the first week or so they’d been on board, but he’d managed to win enough at cards—and hold his own in enough fistfights—to win the crew members over; no one would be able to tell now that he hadn’t been with this crew forever. He climbed the ship’s riggings with the agility of a monkey, and Jack had seen him manning the crow’s nest on more than one shift.

“Good morning, captain,” Daggers called, and Jack turned his attention back to her and the captain.

“Hello, Dot!”

Phryne was the only one who could get away with that particular nickname, at least in public. He’d seen one unfortunate sailor in port trying to use it. He was certain the man’s nose would heal mostly straight.

“How goes the morning?” Phryne swung lithely up beside her first mate, who stepped aside to let the captain take the ship’s wheel.

“It’s been quiet so far, captain,” Daggers said, adopting a wide-legged stance with her hands clasped together behind her back. “We’re nearing the heading for the _Victory_ that we were given in A Coruña. We should meet them by midafternoon.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter as my PFF for November - what with all the other stuff going around, it's all I've got. Let's hope it does all right doing double duty!

“We’re nearing the heading for the _Victory_ that we were given in A Coruña. We should meet them by midafternoon.”

Jack heard Daggers’ words and felt his stomach drop and the smile fall away from his face. Today? He wasn’t ready. He looked at Phryne, whose eyes were on him, sad and serious. Why hadn’t she told him—warned him—that there’d been word of the _Victory_? She had to have known. Was this imminent ending the reason for the closeness she’d offered him this morning?

“Seems like you won’t be with us much longer, lieutenant,” she said softly.

“It does indeed.” Jack’s voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. “I’ll just go find Collins and tell him to prepare himself.” He sketched a half-bow at the captain and her mate and turned to go.

“Jack,” Phryne’s voice was urgent.

He turned, his eyes searching her out. She was beautiful in the sunlight, the blue of her vest making her eyes seem the color of the sea itself; her lips—pink and still plumped, he imagined, from his kisses—slightly open. She met his eyes again, and he fancied that he could see the same pain in them that he could feel gripping his own heart.

“Meet me in my cabin in an hour. We’ll go over the plan for how to deliver your message.”

“As you wish, captain.” He bowed again and moved away, jumping from the ladder down to the main deck and striding purposely toward the foredeck, where Collins worked the sails.

Jack was aware of the thump of his bootheels against the deck and the shouts of the sailors going about their day, but only peripherally. He was wholly occupied by trying to swallow past the lump in his throat at the thought that last night had been their last night, and he hadn’t even realized it.

_I’d have made it special, if I’d known._ The thought caught him by surprise. What would he have done to make it more special than every time they’d made love had been? And would Phryne have even wanted a special good-bye? He didn’t know whether to hope that she would, that she cared as much for him as he did for her, or to hope that he was only a passing fancy and she wouldn’t be left hurting when he had to go. He wanted to be the kind of man who would be happy if she was happy—that he’d celebrate with her a return to whatever variety of lovers she’d enjoyed before he’d come along—but he wasn’t. He was far too selfish for that. He wanted her to miss him as much as he was going to miss her. He wanted her heart to be breaking the way that his was right now.

Jack could feel the frown pulling his brows together and stretching his lips downward, and he deliberately took a breath and smoothed his facial muscles. He’d known that anything he had with Captain Phryne Fisher had to be transitory. He had no right to be angry now, when his time with her had come to an end. It had been wonderful, but it was over, and he had to deal with that.

“Collins!” His shout was harsh, and he saw his midshipman, barefoot and agile among the rigging, turn to look at him. He beckoned the young man to him, and got a hurried nod in return. As he watched Collins work his way down, Jack clasped his hands behind his back. Collins would not be eager to leave either.

“Sir?” Collins’ voice was breathless as he dropped in front of Jack. “Is everything all right?”

Jack struggled to keep his face impassive. “It appears that our stay on _La Belle Dame_ is nearing an end,” he said, his voice flat. “We are due to rendezvous with the _Victory_ this afternoon.”

“This afternoon, sir?” Collins’ voice was incredulous, and Jack saw him glance toward the ship’s wheel, and Daggers, before looking back at Jack. His expression was dismayed. “Already?”

“We’ve had four weeks of leisure, Collins. This has hardly been quick.” Jack snapped his teeth together and clenched his jaw. He needn’t take out his own temper on the boy. He knew that Collins had made friends among the sailors of _La Belle Dame_. It would be difficult to start over again on the _Victory_. “I will admit, I’m not… happy to be leaving, Collins, but our duty calls. After luncheon, please ready your things so that we can transfer over to the _Victory_ when we find her.”

Collins shut his eyes for a moment and pressed his lips together. “Yes, sir.”

“Good man.” Jack gave him a nod and turned on his heel, heading to gather up his own things and—not coincidentally—give himself a few minutes alone in his cabin.

An hour later, Jack presented himself at the door to Phryne’s cabin. He’d packed his meager belongings and donned his vest. His red lieutenant’s coat—letter to Captain Redstone of the _Victory_ tucked securely in its inside pocket—and gold-trimmed hat sat atop his duffel on the narrow bunk that he’d used only a few times. His cabin held no particular memories for him. All of his memories that weren’t of Phryne’s cabin were focused on the public areas of the ship and the crew members with whom he’d struck up friendships: Mr. Butler; Daggers; the ship’s doctor, a woman named Mac—from her last name, MacMillan; he didn’t know her first name—who, like Phryne, wore the breeches and vests of a man’s clothing and was dryly funny, particularly when she was in her cups. And Phryne.

Shaking his head, Jack knocked, a quick triple rap. A moment later, he heard a call of “enter” and opened the door. His eyes went immediately to her, seated at her small table, a leather ledger open in front of her. She didn’t look up.

“You wanted to see me, captain?” He closed the door behind him and stood at his ease, his hands clenched together behind him. _Look up, Phryne. Look at me. Tell me you’re sorry that I have to go._

“Yes, lieutenant.” She drew a ribbon between the pages of the journal and sighed heavily before raising her eyes to his.  “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you this was coming, Jack.”

“I always knew that I couldn’t be here forever. I did expect that you’d let me know when there’d been word, however, as it is _directly related to me_.” He tried to keep his voice level, but he couldn’t help the bite of the last few. He clamped his jaw shut and focused on the soft folds of the red-and-gold fabric that draped around the roll-top desk behind her.

“I just...” She pushed her chair back and stood, taking a step closer to him. “I didn’t want to… to make our last days... ” Her voice trailed off, and an abrupt motion caught his eye. She’d planted her hands on her hips and was looking at the floor. His eyes traced the arch of her neck and the line of her blouse. He almost missed the quick motion of her hand as she brought it to her eyes.

“Phryne?” His hands loosened their grip on each other and fell to his sides.

“Blast it, Jack!” She looked up at him and her eyes were anguished. “I’ve been racking my brain since we left A Coruña, trying to find a way to keep you on board. If I were a pirate in truth, I could just refuse to give you back, but as I’m not actually operating fully outside the law, and you are a lawful, honorable man who’d refuse to be kidnapped even if I could come up with a good reason—”

Jack surged forward, cutting off her words by the simple act of covering her mouth with his. He wrapped his arms around her, one pulling her to him at the waist, the other cupping the back of her head as he angled his mouth over hers and kissed her passionately. Phryne kissed him back, her arms winding around his neck; she rose to her tiptoes to press her body flush against his.

When their lips parted, Jack laid his forehead against hers.

“I thought you didn’t care that I was leaving,” he murmured, stroking her hair away from her face.

“I wasn’t even sure if you wanted to stay.” Her voice was no more than a whisper, and he felt her hand at the back of his neck, her fingertips stroking his skin before she grasped his queue.

“If I had my choice, I’d never leave.”

Phryne kissed him, her lips urgent. With a groan, he lifted her and stumbled toward the bed. He set her on the edge of the mattress and stood, his hands sliding away from her. Holding her eyes, he began undressing. She did the same, and within moments had shed her vest and shirt. Bare-breasted, she watched Jack drop his shirt and vest to the floor and kneel to help her with her boots; when he’d tugged them free, his hands slipped under the waistband of her trousers, which Phryne had already loosened, to pull them down and away.

Still on his knees, Jack set his hands on her knees and pushed her thighs open, shuffling between them even as he stroked upward to cup her breasts. Phryne leaned forward to kiss him, her hands busy at the fastenings of his breeches. She reached inside, pulling his cock out and wrapping her hand around its already half-hard length. Pumping him slowly with one hand, she reached behind him to push his trousers off of his bottom, cupping one muscular globe and squeezing while pulling him toward her.

Jack groaned again as she brought both hands back around to his cock, one palm rubbing gently over his head as the other push-pulled against his skin; he could feel himself hardening with every pass. He pulled his mouth from hers, bending to close his lips around one nipple, his hand beneath her breast holding her up for his lips and tongue. Phryne whimpered and arched her back, her hands never stopping their work. Switching breasts, Jack pulled strongly on her nipple before letting it go and trailing his lips over the fleshy underside of her breast. When he reached the outer curve, he opened his lips and sucked hard. He wanted to brand her, just for a little while, so that she would not be able to forget him.

Before long, Jack was helplessly thrusting his hips against Phryne’s stroking hands, and she leaned in to press her cheek to his hair.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered, tugging at his cock.

He lifted his head at that, moving forward to let her align his cockhead with her passage. His eyes on hers, he pushed, slowly filling her; she held his gaze, her arms coming to rest over his shoulders, her hands in his hair. She inhaled shakily as he penetrated her body and moaned his name when he was fully seated.

“Phryne…” he whispered, holding still inside her and kissing her deeply.

She kissed him back unapologetically, diving into the kiss as was her habit. She pressed her breasts to his chest and hitched her hips against him, pushing her sensitive clit against the base of his cock. Slowly, Jack pulled out and just as slowly pushed back in. Their mouths open against each other, both of them breathed in, then out as he repeated the motion. For all that this was their last time together, Jack didn’t feel any urgency to pound away, and neither, it seemed, did Phryne.

_Perhaps this is what makes this last time special._ He stilled his hips and kissed her again, his hands sweeping up her back, reveling in her softness. Long moments later, he began his slow rhythm again, drawing out every sensation as much as he could manage. Bracing her against his hands spread wide on her back, he dipped his head to her breasts again, closing his eyes to concentrate on the flavor of her skin and the texture of her hardened nipples against his tongue. Phryne leaned backward, trusting in his strength to support her as he worshipped her body with his mouth and his cock.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against her as he switched breasts.

“You feel divine, Jack,” she responded, lifting her knees to his hips to open herself against him.

“Make yourself come, Phryne.” He looked up at her, across the arch of her neck to the sharp line of her jaw and her flushed cheekbones. “I want to feel you come apart around me.”

Phryne licked her lips, then bit into the lower one, raising her head to watch Jack’s attentions to her breasts. She slid one hand down from his shoulder, trailing across his chest—it was his turn to gasp as she used her fingernails to caress his nipple before stroking downward, following the trail of his chest hair to where their groins met. He grunted but didn’t change his languid thrusting pace when he felt her fingers, pressing against her clit, brush the base of his cock.

“Jack…” her whisper had him raising his head from her breasts to let her kiss him. When she lifted her head, she murmured, “lean back.”

He did, catching himself on one hand and pulling her off the edge of the bed to ride him. Resting his buttocks on his heels, he watched her settle herself, her feet flat on the floor. She mimicked his rhythm, but pushed harder at the end of each thrust, grinding her fingers against her clit with the pressure from their joined bodies.

Jack slid his hands to cup her buttocks, gripping the soft flesh and assisting with her movements. He kept his hips mostly still, but took his cue from her, pressing up against her harder than he had before. The sensations became almost overwhelming—her wet heat moving on his cock, her soft breasts with their pointed nipples sliding against his chest, her arm wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressed against his, and her hot breath gusting in his ear—all causing the tension in his belly to coil more and more tightly.He could feel himself ratcheting higher, so close to coming that his stomach muscles began to quiver with strain, but he didn’t want to leave her body until he’d felt the beautiful release of her orgasm.

“Phryne, please,” he groaned. “Please…”

“Put your fingers on me, Jack,” she whimpered, sliding her own out of the way.

Jack hastily obliged, bringing a hand between them and capturing her bud between the tips of his index and middle fingers. She was slippery with arousal, and when he touched her, she keened. He began a rhythmic pressure with his two fingers, pushing first one, then the other in a rapid tattoo that stroked the sides of her clit and added pressure to the nerve that ran up its base.

Phryne’s arms clutched him harder, her hands clenching in his hair as her orgasm built. Jack kept up the pressure, switching next to a two-fingered battering movement against her flesh, and Phryne peaked with a cry, closing her teeth upon his earlobe as she shook against him. He groaned at the feeling of that small, sharp pain coupled with the muscular pulses of her channel along his cock, and he shuddered, breathing carefully to hold back his own orgasm while she rode out hers.

He continued his slow thrusts, more softly now, feeling Phryne shake through several small aftershocks of climax. When her breathing steadied, she released his ear with a small, apologetic lick. She kissed him, her mouth warm and sweet, before raising her head to look into his eyes.

“Lie back, Jack,” she said, her voice thick with satisfaction.

Jack tilted his head at her, confused, but angled to rest his bottom on the plush rug that covered her cabin floor and straighten his legs beneath her. He lay back, letting her rise above him—a sight that he never tired of. He didn’t see it long this time, though. When he was prone, Phryne slid off of him, turning to capture his cock in one fist and his balls with the fingers of her other hand. Licking her lips again, she leaned down and took him in her mouth.

Jack groaned. Phryne gave the same attention to giving head as she did to kissing—she used her tongue and lips and teeth on him joyfully. Her mouth was as warm as her pussy, and in some ways better, because he knew that she would let him spend inside it. She licked him from root to tip, then pressed her lips to his crown, slowly pushing down and opening her mouth to take him inside. She swirled her tongue as she engulfed him in heat and wetness, taking him all the way to the back of her throat and then swallowing to push him even further, her lips meeting the side of the fist she still held around his base. Jack groaned again, arching into her suction as his hands raised to rest on her head.

Slowly, Phryne lifted her head again, her rhythm similar to the slow fucking he’d given her; Jack wove the fingers of one hand into her hair and stroked the other down her back, cupping her thigh to pull her closer to him. He slid his fingers up and inside her body, hearing her pleased hum as a vibration up his cock and into his balls. She didn’t speed up, though, even as his fingers pumped inside her and his thumb pressed against her clit. He rested his arm against her calf, stiffening his muscles as she began to pump against him with each slow slide up and down his cock.

Jack watched her—amazed by how erotic it was to watch her impale herself, first her mouth on his cock and then her pussy on his fingers. Each time her clit came within reach, he swirled his thumb around it, adding sensation. He was going to come—and soon—and he wanted her to come with him.

When he could feel the buildup in his scrotum coming to its peak, he lifted his elbow, pressing his fingers deep inside her body and stimulating her clit, even as he began shallow thrusts of his hips inside her mouth. Phryne relaxed, letting her teeth graze the vein on the underside of his cockhead with the first few thrusts, then tightening her lips around its flared rim and suckling hard.

Jack came with a shout, his fingers inside Phryne curling hard and his hips jerking as he spilled into her mouth. Phryne swallowed energetically, her hands squeezing his cock and balls as she milked him for all he had, pushing her sex against his fingers to bring herself off while he was still recovering. Jack felt the shaking of her thigh against his side and the squeezing of her pussy around his impaling digits, and felt his orgasm redouble.

When Jack could think again, he raised his head, looking down his body at Phryne, who lay with her head on his thigh, the head of his cock still against her lips. She traced its lines gently with her fingertips and pressed a soft kiss on its tip before shifting to sit up.

“Lie down with me, Jack, until we meet the _Victory_?”

“I would love nothing more,” he said, sitting up to press his lips to hers, loving the taste of himself in her kiss.

Parting, Phryne stood and moved toward the bed; Jack shucked his boots and breeches, still tangled around his thighs, then gathered a clean, damp cloth and brought it to her—she took it with a soft smile and cleaned herself as he watched. Dropping the cloth on the floor, he lay down and she draped herself over him, her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his.

They didn’t speak except in kisses as the afternoon wore on. When the knock came at her door that the _Victory_ had been sighted, Phryne lifted her head to look at Jack.

“Jack, I…” She shook her head, her eyes eloquent in their sadness. He lifted a hand to lay a finger against her lips.

“Until I see you again, Captain Fisher,” he responded with a small sideways smile, tracing her lips with his fingertip.

She smiled, a bright, open thing, and nodded. Pulling his hand from her lips, she leaned close to kiss him one last time, and he poured his love for her into it. Breaking the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her hard; she wound her arms around him as well, squeezing him tight before disengaging.

Without another word, they dressed and tidied up. Jack opened the door, ushering Phryne out ahead of him—a small smile thrown over her shoulder told him that she was remembering their morning’s conversation too—and headed down the hall. They stopped at Jack’s cabin to get his bag and climbed out into the sunlight, as ready as they’d ever be to send him away from this pirate’s life.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“There it is, lieutenant, San Sebastián.” Captain James Redstone of the _Victory_ was a large man, a full head taller than Jack, with the muscular build that said he’d been active all his life. He wasn’t the type of captain who let his crew do all the work—in the two weeks Jack had been on board, he’d seen the captain wrestle with the wheel during a storm and tie off a sail and haul supplies. Redstone was blustery and blunt, and Jack liked him very much. He didn’t, however, like the fact that he and Hugh were to be put ashore in San Sebastián to wait for _King William III_ to make port and pick them up.

“Are you certain that your orders take you out of the Bay of Biscay, captain?” Jack tried to keep his tone matter-of-fact. “I feel that Collins and I could be of far more service to you and the Navy if we stayed with you until we could meet back up with _King William_.”

“That you could, lieutenant, and I’d be glad to have you both.” Redstone chuckled. “Unfortunately, my orders are clear. You are to be reunited with _King William_ as soon as may be, so that your reports of _La Belle Dame_ ’s activities can be delivered to the Admiralty; I and my crew are ordered to Lisbon to pick up important cargo.”

“I was afraid of that. What am I to do with myself in port for so long?” Jack rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, his question rhetorical.

Captain Redstone clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s shore leave, lieutenant! Find a willing woman, eat food that’s not hardtack and salted beef, and sleep and drink to your heart’s content. A couple of weeks will do you good!”

Jack smiled tightly, knowing that the captain meant well, but he couldn’t help remembering his time on _La Belle Dame_ at the words. He’d had a willing woman and good food; the crew was not encouraged to drunkenness, but grog was available, and sleeping… well, he hadn’t slept well since he’d come aboard the _Victory_ , having no chance of waking up next to Phryne.

“We’ll be fine, sir, I’m certain.”

“Good, good. Now pack your things. We’ll make landfall in—” He cast an experienced eye at the dark smudge of land altering the horizon line, then up at the sails. “—about two hours, I’d say.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll notify Collins.” Jack gave a short bow.

“Good man.” Redstone nodded and turned back to look out to sea.

As he walked away, Jack tugged a little at the waist of his jacket. After being without it on _La Belle Dame_ for so many weeks, he was unaccustomed to its weight and heat. He scanned the crew and caught Collins’ eye. The younger man, too, was wearing more formal dress than he had on Phryne’s ship, his blue coat with its white collar patch, gold buttons, and long tails worn open over a spotless white waistcoat and buff breeches. His stockings were clean and his black shoes shiny. He looked rather miserable, Jack thought.

Collins strode over to meet him. “Is that San Sebastián on the horizon, sir?”

“It is,” Jack said. “It’s time to pack our things and prepare to be marooned.” Jack turned to walk beside Collins as they headed belowdecks to gather their things.

“At least we can get out of these blasted coats, sir.” Collins’ voice was low, and he reached up to tug at the collar of his jacket.

“Indeed. Captain Redstone advises us to consider this shore leave, with the attendant opportunities for pleasure.” Jack watched the younger man’s face. He was blushing.

“I think I’ll stick to the less prurient pleasures available, sir. At least for a while.”

“Ah, so Miss Williams was receptive to your advances, then?” Jack’s sidelong glance was sly.

A soft, shy smile curved the midshipman’s mouth. “Yes, sir. She was kind enough to… say goodbye personally.”

“Ah, the joys of a modern woman, eh Collins?” Jack knew that his words were tinged with melancholy.

“Indeed, sir. I’ve never been more tempted to run away to sea.”

Jack chuckled almost sadly. “I know just what you mean.”

*****

San Sebastián was, despite the damage caused by the siege that had made it part of a French duchy, a beautiful town. Its history was long and interesting, filled with war and peace and governmental coups, and Jack couldn’t seem to care much.

He spent his days on the beach, reading fiction—he’d found a tiny, dusty bookseller a few streets over from the pensión where he and Collins were staying, and the tiny, dusty old man who ran it had dug up three books in English from his stock. He’d sold them all to Jack for a pittance, since the majority of his customers couldn’t read them: Marlowe’s _Doctor Faustus_ , a tattered copy of _Antony and Cleopatra_ , and an English edition of Mmme de la Fayette’s _The Princesse de Clèves_ —the first two he’d read before, and the third was fascinating in its portrayal of the French court and its terribly sad storyline of unrequited love. He’d already read it twice in the two weeks they’d been waiting for _King William_ to arrive.

This morning, Jack chose _Doctor Faustus_ —he was increasingly frustrated with the inactivity of waiting, and a tale told of Hell and damnation seemed to match his mood. After breakfast, he bade Collins good day and headed down to La Concha Bay and the beach.

Arriving at the edge of the sand, Jack removed his shoes and stockings and tucked them into a sack he’d brought along—he’d worn only his shirt and breeches today, as his waistcoat and jacket were both too hot and too formal for the area. Without his shoes on, he felt like a castaway, desperately watching the horizon for someone to come and save him. To be truthful, he felt that way quite often these days—adrift and unsure. He sighed.

Stepping out into the sand, he dug his toes in, enjoying the pull of the wetness and the additional strain on his leg muscles as he hiked at speed out to the farthest end of the bay’s cove. Hills there provided uninterrupted ocean views and yet enough trees to provide shade and protection from inclement weather. As he had every day since they’d arrived, Jack climbed the hill at the mouth of the bay barefoot, preferring the purchase of his skin and toes to the slippery soles of his shoes. He’d explored the area thoroughly, day after day, and had been unsurprised to see the ruins of a castle in among the green trees. The remains of the castle walls created a perfect place to settle for the day. He found his favorite spot, tucked up against what had once been a tower, and got comfortable.

An hour into his book, Jack felt his eyelids getting heavy, and he set the book aside in favor of a nap in the sunshine. He made himself comfortable on the soft ground and closed his eyes. This, often, was his favorite part of the day. He’d found that the scent of the sea breeze and the creak of the trees put him in mind of being shipboard—all he was missing was the rise and fall of the waves. He slept better for the hour or two he’d nap here than he did for the whole night in the pensión where he and Collins were staying.

And sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d dream of Phryne.

Today was to be a lucky day, it seemed. Almost as soon as he closed his eyes, he found himself practically falling through the door of Phryne’s cabin on _La Belle Dame_ , with the woman herself wrapped around him, her hands in his hair and her legs twined around his waist. He supported her with two hands on her bottom as she kissed him in that wholly encompassing way she had. He could taste her—whiskey and coffee and a sweetness that was hers alone—and his cock was so hard it hurt.

He turned, reaching out blindly with one hand to close and lock the door behind them, then moved to place her back against the wall. Phryne’s hands flew as she unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt, pushing them greedily off his shoulders; he helped, shifting her weight to one side and then the other, curling his fingers between her legs to push the seam of her breeches up against her sensitive flesh. She whimpered and, when his shirt was off, pulled her hands in to undo her own vest and push it and her blouse aside.

Jack groaned as her breasts came into view; he never tired of the sight of them—small and plump, with full lower curves and sweet pink nipples a few shades darker than her lips. Lifting her higher, he buried his face between them, licking up one curve and down another, nuzzling beneath their slight weight to breathe in the smell of her—French perfume and clean sweat—before licking up to swirl his tongue around those tempting points. Phryne’s hips bucked against his belly as he suckled first one and then the other, and her hands dropped to her trouser fastenings.

“Jack…” she whimpered, fighting to push the trousers down. “Please!”

Jack fumbled one-handed at his own waist to undo his falls and free his cock; when Phryne had managed to push her trousers down around her thighs, he notched his head at her opening, sliding in while they worked to pull her legs up higher against his chest, bending her almost in half just to give him access to her pussy. When she was securely situated, her knees over his shoulders and her trousers bunched against his chest, he began to thrust. She pressed her head back against the wall, her mouth open in pleasure as he swived her, pounding himself inside her wet sheath over and over.

He covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue in the same rhythm, and Phryne’s hands clenched in his hair. Whatever they’d done to work themselves to this pitch meant that it wasn’t long before she shattered around him, her scream of pleasure mostly muffled by his mouth. Jack pulled her toward him, using his hands to move her body on his cock as he stood; he lifted her high and then nearly dropped her so that she slid forcefully down his length with each thrust. She buried her head in his neck as she came again, her thighs shaking. With a shout, Jack dropped her one last time so that he was as far inside her as he could be as his orgasm hit—he felt himself jerking against her as pleasure gripped him at the base of the spine and shook him.

Panting, Jack staggered to the bed and laid her down, still connected. Phryne looked up at him and began to laugh—he glanced to either side of his head. Seeing her shiny black boots on his shoulders and feeling the crumpled cloth of her trousers beneath his chin, he laughed too.

Jack woke to afternoon shade, his cock hard as a rock inside his breeches, and a smile still on his lips. Reaching down, he opened his falls and took himself in hand, remembering the heat and the laughter of the dream as he rapidly pumped his hand over his rigid flesh. When he came, shifting to one side so that his seed would fall upon the ground, he groaned Phryne’s name.

When his breathing had steadied, he tucked himself away and gathered up his things. He rummaged in his bag for the bread and cheese he’d tucked away for his luncheon—his stomach was growling now—and sat up against the rock wall to eat it. As he ate, he wondered at himself. He had always considered himself to be an honorable man. He had not been a faithful husband to his wife during his years at sea, but she did not expect it of him. She’d said as much when he left the first time, to his newlywed shock.

“It’s all right, you know, Jack,” she’d said as they stood on the dock. “If you need to take your pleasure in someone else while you’re away.”

“What? Rosie, I—”

She’d cut him off. “No, I understand—you’ll be away a long time, and you will need release if you’re to remain healthy. I just don’t want you to waste any time feeling guilty about it. I know you would.”

Unable to answer, he’d held her close and kissed her one last time before turning to board. She’d watched until he reached the deck, then sent him a final wave and turned toward their home. She’d been right—he had begun wanting to find a willing bed partner within the first weeks away at sea, and her express permission had robbed him of any guilt he might have felt.

Finishing the bread and cheese, he dug out the orange he’d packed and began to peel it, concentrating on peeling it cleanly as his thoughts ranged back.

Rosalind was a good woman; she’d been seventeen and he twenty-three when they’d married some sixteen years before, and he had wooed her and won her, expecting that love would follow marriage. He’d met her through a shipmate just after he’d made boatswain, when he’d been told that he should marry if he wanted to continue to rise in the ranks. She had been lovely, with her soft brown hair and her gray-green eyes, and he’d desired her very much. In the two months between their marriage and his next assignment, they had learned each other’s bodies thoroughly; he had taken her virginity on their wedding night, and he’d shown her the pleasures to be had between a man and a woman. She’d been an apt pupil.

But then he’d gone to sea, and Rosalind had been alone. He hadn’t been surprised when she’d written to tell him that an unmarried childhood friend of hers, a woman named Bethany Myers, had moved into their townhome to keep her company. It was clear, when Jack met her friend on his next furlough that Rosalind and Bethany were two peas in a pod. He suspected that they were more than friends, really, but that wasn’t the kind of thing that he wanted confirmed; he was just glad that Rosalind had someone to be happy with. Especially because, by that time, he’d been away at sea for eight months and had come home to a wife he realized he barely knew.

The distance between them had only grown as time wore on. He supposed it was logical—he was only home once or twice in a year, for two weeks to a month at a time. Rosalind had done her duty by him, even when it seemed that he was a virtual stranger—she’d welcomed him to her bed each time he was home, and the sex had always been pleasurable. She’d conceived five times during their marriage, and borne three children, each of them birthed in his absence. He loved his children—Catherine, John, and Mary—but he hardly knew them. After Catherine had been born, he’d considered giving up his commission and taking a job in London, but Rosalind had gently discouraged him. She’d known that he loved the sea, and he’d known that she and Bethany had built a life without him.

After Mary had come, when Jack was home, he took a spare bedroom—Rosalind had said that she didn’t want to risk conceiving again, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d been relieved, actually. As they’d become farther and farther apart, her duty visits to his bed had begun to make him uncomfortable, because he could no longer tell if she wanted to be there. He knew that it was his prerogative as her husband to demand her presence and participation, but he cared too much about her to want to do so. That was a line he did not cross.

With the certainty that Rosalind was happy with the way things were, he had found it easy to take his pleasure in short-term affairs. There had been women in port, certainly—usually someone in the household of whatever town nobles had offered the ship’s officers hospitality for their stay. He could remember several nights where he’d come in from a long, formal dinner to find a woman waiting for him in his bed. They’d usually been servants with whom he’d traded flirtatious remarks, but there’d been one memorable occasion when his host’s sister had risen naked from his bedclothes to beckon him forward. That memory had, for a long time, been one he’d pull out when he was alone—the woman had been very skilled in the bedchamber, and she’d wrung him out.

At sea, on a ship with nothing but men, all of them had found ways to ease their loins. The Admiralty frowned upon just about any sexual release while aboard, but that was hardly common sense. So the men worked around it. Some simply abstained or took their pleasure upon themselves. Others formed a bond with a single other crewman, and those could be as tight as any marriage blessed by God. Still others had paired up more casually, pleasuring each other with hands, mouths, and cocks. As long as the men involved were participating of their own free will, Jack saw nothing wrong with it. Jack himself had had three regular sexual partners among _King William_ ’s crew; each of them was a good man with whom he’d spent a few pleasurable hours.

But for all of the pleasure he’d had over the years, what he had experienced with Captain Fisher was a first. He’d never dreamed of Rosalind, not even when he’d left her behind that first time, nor about any of the women he’d eased himself with over the years, nor about his bed-friends on _King William III_. But he’d dreamed of Phryne, and those dreams were not about lust; they were about love.

Shaking his head, Jack rose to make his way back down toward town, his thoughts continuing to whirl.

Today’s dream had been about sex, it was true, but not all of them were. Sometimes he dreamed of laughing with her over a meal, or of going about the business of plotting routes or standing watch, or of sitting with her and Mac and discussing books or current events over a glass of whiskey. Even now, weeks after leaving _La Belle Dame_ , he found himself turning to direct her attention to something at least once a day; realizing that she wasn’t actually there to see it would cut into him anew each time. He missed her body, definitely, but also her laugh, her sharp wit, and the way she cared for her crew. He missed her eyes—both the way they sparkled with life and how they looked when she was heavy-lidded with sleep. He missed the way she said his name, that sharp emphasis on the final _k_ sound or the softness of the consonants when she was blurry-eyed with pleasure. He missed _her_.

He was in love with her, totally and completely, and that knowledge made him wonder about the kind of man he really was, because given the chance to be with her, he thought he might throw away everything he’d once believed mattered.

He stopped on the beach looking out over La Concha Bay and dug his toes into the sand. He had tried, over the last weeks, to be happy for the time he’d had with Phryne. He’d told himself that he should be thankful to have felt that emotion, and to know that there was someone in the world he’d do anything for. But he hadn’t yet made himself believe it. It hurt too much to be apart from her.

So maybe it was time to start finding a way to go back. For the first time since he’d left _La Belle Dame_ , Jack felt the weight of sorrow lift, and he smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

“Batten down, men, this storm’s going to be a screamer!” Jack broke into a run, moving against the wind to help the nearest seaman to secure the sails. It had just begun to rain, and by the look of the sky, it was likely to get considerably worse. The clouds were black and churning, and the wind had picked up, turning the sea into a roiling cauldron that was already beginning to throw _King William III_ around as if it was a child’s toy.

“Secure the mainsail,” he shouted, his fingers quickly forming the knot that would anchor the ropes that held this smaller sail to its mast. He glanced over to the ship’s wheel, where the brawny young helmsman was being lashed to the post by another sailor even as he struggled to guide the ship as safely as possible through the choppy waves.

Sail secure, Jack dismissed the man he’d been assisting, gesturing him to go belowdecks. He moved along the ship’s workstations, checking the status of the sailors’ rope work before dismissing each of them. Last, he worked his way up beside the helmsman. This man’s job was vital during a storm, but also very dangerous. The sailor who’d lashed the helmsman in was now doing the same to himself nearby--it wasn’t safe for a person to be alone on deck, and should something happen to the helmsman, this second man would need to take his place.

“You all right, Beecher?” Jack stood beside the helmsman to ask the question, and saw a mixture of resolution and a kind of maniacal glee on the man’s face. He’d done this before, his expression said, and it was exhilarating to be able to do it again.

“I’m fine, sir! She’s gonna be a mighty blow!” Beecher’s grin was huge, stretching his cheeks. He was right, too--in the few minutes it had taken to secure the rigging, the rain had more than doubled, and Jack was soaked to the skin. Beecher, at least, had had the foresight to don his oilskin before being tied down.

“That she is,” Jack agreed, clapping the young man on the shoulder before moving to his companion, who was also covered against the wet under his rope lashings. “And you, Rogers? You secure?”

“Aye, sir! Secure and ready!” Rogers’ voice was almost as gleeful as Beecher’s, and Jack grinned at them both.

“Good work,” Jack shouted, sending the two of them a salute before heading belowdecks himself. He headed to the captain’s cabin, staggering a little with the agitated motions of the sea as he made his way through the narrow hallways.

“Come in, lieutenant,” Captain Hartley said as Jack knocked, “Report.”

“All secure, sir,” Jack said, bracing his legs to stand carefully at attention. Hartley was a bit of a stickler for propriety, unlike either of the other captains he’d served with in recent months.

“Excellent,” Hartley looked up from the log book he was writing in, his body swaying unconsciously; he gestured to a peg with a toweling cloth draped over it. Gratefully, Jack took it and scrubbed at his dripping hair.

“Beecher and Rogers are at the helm, and I’ll make sure that Nelson and Murphy are prepared to spell them in a couple of hours. It’s shaping up to be a nasty blow.” Jack’s voice was matter-of-fact, and he wrapped the cloth around his shoulders. Hartley waved him to a seat.

The captain’s cabin on _King William_ was far less plush than Phryne’s had been, and Jack couldn’t help drawing the comparison every time he entered the room. Where Phryne had soft fabrics and vivid colors, Hartley preferred glossy wood and brass. His cabin smelled of whiskey and sweat and the spicy cologne Hartley favored, whereas Phryne’s had been fragrant with French perfume. The whiskey was the same, he supposed.

Jack had been back on board _King William_ for almost a month, and he hadn’t stopped trying to find a way to get himself back to _La Belle Dame_. He didn’t think that Hartley had realized yet that his heart was no longer in doing his job for the Royal Navy, but it wouldn’t be long before it began affecting his performance. He needed a solution, and soon. He missed his captain more and more every day.

Some days, he woke from a dream and wondered whether she was even real, or if he’d made her up. But then he would remember the pleasure they’d brought each other from that very first day and know that she was no figment of his imagination. One morning, having woken again from a dream of her laughter that made his heart want to break, he’d pulled out a notebook and begun sketching. He was no artist, truthfully, but he could at least get the shape of her face on the paper. Since then, most mornings would find him up before the duty bell, sketching the moments he missed, just to keep her memory alive and his hopes high.

“Lieutenant, I have here a report from the Admiralty,” Hartley’s voice cut into his musings, and Jack snapped back to attention. The captain held up a couple of folded sheets of paper, “and it concerns you.”

“Me, sir?” Jack’s eyebrows drew together. He knew that Captain Redstone had sent his reports to the Admiralty via courier during the weeks he’d been aboard the _Victory_ , but he hadn’t expected to hear what had come of them.

“Yes.” Hartley studied Jack, one eyebrow raised. “Apparently, the logs you took during your time on _La Belle Dame_ have been of particular interest to Admiral Lord Edward Stanley--he’s the one who issued Captain Fisher’s Letters of Marque, you know.”

Jack hadn’t known. He’d known that she had to have those letters--they were the British government’s endorsement that enabled her to call herself a privateer rather than a pirate--but that they’d come from an Admiral was a surprise.

Captain Hartley seemed to see Jack’s astonishment, because he went on.

“Apparently, the Admiral is her uncle, and when she came to him to offer her services to the Navy--she’d already captured _La Belle Dame_ by this time, you understand--he was able to make the Marque happen.” Hartley shook his head, his smile fond. “Remarkable woman, Captain Fisher.”

“She certainly is,” Jack agreed softly, smiling slightly.

“Excellent captain, and an asset to the Navy. Unfortunately, however,” Hartley drawled, “her paperwork leaves much to be desired. So your reports were the most information the Admiral has had of her activities since she was issued her Marque.”

Jack’s smile widened. That sounded just like Phryne. She wouldn’t have seen the benefit to her in the paperwork, so she likely just “forgot” to do it.

“And that, lieutenant, is why you are being reassigned.”

Jack’s head came up and he stared at his Captain. “I’m what, sir?”

“Being reassigned. You and a seaman of your choice to act as your secretary. The Admiralty needs the information about the ships _La Belle Dame_ takes as much as it needs the revenues from the captures. Since you were so successful at providing that information, Admiral Stanley has assigned you to be the official liaison to _La Belle Dame_ ’s crew.” Hartley narrowed his eyes at Jack. “I can’t say I’m thrilled about this, lieutenant. You’ve been an asset to my crew. I’m loath to lose you. If this is not a duty that you want to undertake, I’ll endeavor to get you out of it.”

“No! I mean, that’s all right, sir, though I do appreciate the thought.” Jack did his best to control his glee. “I’ll miss this crew, of course, but the time I spent aboard _La Belle Dame_ was exhilarating--it’s rather fun to play at piracy, I’ll admit.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’d take you back in an instant.” Hartley sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to promote another from within the crew. Admiral Stanley didn’t assign me a new lieutenant.”

“I can make you a list of candidates, sir, if that would be helpful.” Jack kept his voice calm. “There are several likely lads; some that are already master level, and some that are ready to become master. This could be a great morale booster for the crew, overall. Shake things up, but in a good way.”

“Hmph. You’re probably right about that.” He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “Thinking like that is why it’s a damned shame to lose you, Robinson.” With a sigh, he waved a dismissing hand at Jack. “Get me that list, then. We’re to leave you off on an island in the Azores in about two weeks, and _La Belle Dame_ will pick you up shortly thereafter--can’t get more specific than that, but Captain Fisher doesn’t want to risk being seen in direct rendezvous with _King William_. Understandable.” He harrumphed, then dismissed Jack. “That will be all, lieutenant.”

Jack nodded and stood, draping the toweling cloth over the hook by the door before leaving. Closing the captain’s door behind him, he let the grin he’d been fighting overtake his face. He was going back. He wondered whether Collins would be as excited as he was.

Striding up to the enlisted men’s mess, where most of the crew was riding out the storm in idle pursuits such as reading or playing dice, Jack paused at the door. He didn’t want to barge in and make the men uncomfortable for what wasn’t an emergency. Standing to one side, he caught the eye of a young seaman who was watching a dice game. With a jerk of his head, he called the lad over.

“Sir?” The man was probably at least seventeen, Jack knew, but he felt ancient next to the boy’s fresh, freckled face and his bright eyes.

“Denning, would you find Mr. Collins and send him out to me, please?” Jack kept his voice mild, bracing himself against the pitching of the ship amongst the waves.

“Yes, sir!”

Denning turned to dart back into the room, heading out of Jack’s view. Jack turned to set his shoulders against the wall beside the door and crossed his arms, his thoughts going back to the conversation he’d just had with Captain Hartley. He was going back to _La Belle Dame_ , and Phryne! He felt his lips stretching in a grin again and struggled to contain it.

“Sir? You asked for me?” Collins came to the doorway of the mess, his eyebrows drawn together in a concerned frown.

“Ah, yes, Collins.” Jack cleared his throat, and straightened his face before pushing himself away from the wall. He beckoned the younger man to follow him down the corridor a ways. “Two things. First, would you please, when you return to the mess, inform Nelson and Murphy that they are to relieve Beecher and Rogers on deck in--” he flipped out his pocket watch and calculated swiftly “--one hour and fifteen minutes, for a two-hour shift.”

“Yes sir,” Collins responded crisply.

“Good man.” Jack nodded. Collins was a good man, officer material for certain, though he did have an innocent air about him.

“And the second thing, sir?”

“Ah, yes, the second thing.” Jack propped his hands on his hips, pushing his jacket backward to make room. “I’ve been reassigned.”

“What? Sir, you--” Collins’ surprise was palpable in the way he started, his mouth falling open.

“It’s all right, Collins. They’ve given me the option to take a seaman of my choice to act as my secretary. I was hoping that you’d consider joining me at this post.” Jack watched the younger man as various expressions crossed his face: surprise, pleasure, concern.

“I’d be honored, sir.” Collins replied, nodding his head. “What is the post?”

“I’m told that I’ve been specially requested as a liaison to the captain of a privateer ship, due to my excellent report-writing capabilities.” Jack allowed the smile to flirt with his mouth. He knew that Collins, like himself, had been yearning to return to _La Belle Dame_ and its first mate. Well, Jack wasn’t yearning to return to the first mate, obviously, but…

“A… privateer ship, sir? Which captain is this?” Collins’ nostrils flared, and he tilted his head at Jack as if hopeful but not willing to believe. Jack could see his hands flexing at his sides.

“You know her, Collins. Captain Phryne Fisher.” Jack’s grin finally overflowed when Collins’ whole body jerked and he brought a fisted hand to his mouth to cover his hissed “yes”.

“So are you still willing to join me, Collins?” Jack raised his eyebrows, letting his own glee color his voice. “I know the privateer’s life is not for everyone.”

“I think I can bear up under the strain, sir.” The younger man’s grin was just as wide as Jack’s had been. “How long is this assignment, sir?”

“No end date was set, Collins.” Jack sobered a moment, considering. “It will likely interfere with any visits home for the foreseeable future, I’m afraid. If you had anyone you were longing to visit, you’ll have to forego that pleasure.”

Collins lost his smile slowly. “Only my mother, sir. Will the Admiralty inform our families that we’ll be incommunicado?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I’ll check in with the captain. Perhaps we can prepare letters to be sent from the island where we’ll rendezvous with _La Belle Dame_.” He would have to consider what to tell Rosalind, he realized. He couldn’t tell her the truth--that he had fallen in love with a pirate queen and was running away to be with her at sea--so he’d have to couch it in terms she’d understand. Special assignment by order of the Admiralty, or some such. He didn’t think she’d miss him, honestly, nor would the children.

“Well, we have a couple of weeks before it becomes an issue.” Jack clapped Collins on the shoulder. “Go, let Nelson and Murphy know about their upcoming shift, and I’ll let you know what Captain Hartley says about notifying our families.”

“Yes sir!” Collins’ grin was bright, and he nodded sharply before spinning around to find the two crewmen Jack had indicated.

After he’d disappeared back into the mess, Jack turned on his heel to head back to his rooms. He was mostly dry by this point, so there was little point in changing his clothes; he’d be back out in the storm to assure himself that the shift changeover went well. But he had most of an hour in which he could wallow in the thought that he was heading back to Phryne, and soon.

Closing his cabin door behind him, Jack lay back on his bed, his hands behind his head. He pictured Phryne, her hair whipping in the sea breeze, her eyes bright with exhilaration as she guided her ship across the waves. God, how he missed her! It had been almost two months since he’d left on the _Victory_ , and he could still see her in his mind’s eye, standing on deck as she watched him go. He was fairly certain she’d been hurt by their parting, too.

A horrible thought occurred to him then, and he sat up on his bunk, his body tense. He’d been treating this as entirely good news, certain that she’d had a hand in getting him reassigned to her ship. Admiral Stanley was her uncle, Captain Hartley had said, and Jack had assumed that she’d had a word in the man’s ear. But what if she hadn’t? What if this truly was entirely the admiral’s scheme, and Phryne wouldn’t want him to return to her ship? What if she thought she was well-shot of him, since he’d been becoming too attached to her?

He turned to set his feet on the floor, bending over his knees as his belly cramped with a spasm of pain at the thought. She couldn’t have missed it, after all. He hadn’t told her he loved her, but surely she knew. He hadn’t hidden it. Perhaps she’d been glad to be rid of him before he had begun to have expectations of her that she wasn’t willing to meet.

Jack drew in a shuddering breath. There was no way to know, really. He shook his head and laid back down. He would simply have to see how she reacted when they were reunited. If she didn’t want him there, he was sure that Captain Hartley would do his best to get Jack moved again--Jack knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay if she didn’t want him there, not least because seeing her take other lovers would gut him. He knew that she’d had casual affairs with some of her crewmen, and though he would never fault her for that, if she continued to do so without also bringing Jack back to her bed, he would be unable to bear it. It was a selfish thought, but true.

Closing his eyes, Jack tried to rest his mind--he had time for a short nap before he’d head back up top, and a rest would do him good. He did his best to wrench his thoughts back into the happy moment when Captain Hartley said he’d be going back. It took all of Jack’s mental discipline to force himself into a fitful sleep.

“Jack! It’s about time you came back.”

The sea air blew a welcome breeze across Jack’s brow as he stood, his gold-trimmed black hat held securely under one arm. Phryne stood before him, dressed not in her captain’s clothing, but in a gown of floral brocade in shades of gold on a base of deep green. The neckline was square-cut and showed the upper curves of her breasts, plumped--he imagined, given their slight size when unenhanced--by a corset. The gown’s color made her skin glow, and he wanted to run his fingers along the divide between living flesh and cloth.

“I have been only waiting for your summons, captain,” he murmured, bowing over her offered hand. Jack realized, in that strange half-awareness that comes in dreams, that they were suddenly alone on the deck of _La Belle Dame_. Phryne’s eyes sparkled up at him as she laughed.

“I have wanted you beside me all these months, Jack--why did you not come?” Her voice was soft, but demanding, and Jack raised a hand to run it over her hair, caught back and tied with ribbons. He stroked his hand up her bared neck to cup her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her.

“I have been here all along, my darling Phryne,” he murmured.

“Do you like my gown, Jack? I wore it especially for you.” She stepped closer to him, her skirts belling up slightly behind her at the same time that they billowed around his legs.

Jack trailed his fingers down her neck to trace the bodice of her gown, stroking the soft upper curves of her breasts before dipping inside to tease her nipples into hardness.

“I do like it,” he growled, watching his hands as he slid his fingers farther under the fabric. “But I’ll like it more when it’s in a pile on the floor. I want to be inside you.”

Phryne’s breathing sped up, and she wound her arms around his neck, rising on her toes to hover her mouth over his.

“Then you should take it off of me, lieutenant,” she breathed, before she fastened her mouth to his.

Jack groaned, a sound that reverberated through his body as his arms wrapped around her. When they were suddenly in her cabin, surrounded by the soft fabrics of her draperies and the scent of her perfume, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Her dress, held together at the back by laces, melted away, leaving her in a lavishly embroidered corset and white lawn chemise. Her arms were bare, and he trailed his fingers down the smooth muscles of her biceps.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Jack,” she said, and with a thought, he stood naked before her.

She laughed in delight and took his hands to draw him with her to the bed. He stretched out and she climbed over him, lifting the skirt of her chemise and letting it settle around them as she pressed her mons--naked beneath her thin skirt--over his erection. He could feel the moisture of her arousal, always so plentiful, leaving warm trails over his flesh, and she began to pulse her hips, sliding his length up and down her cleft.

“God, Phryne.” He set his hands on her hips, mesmerized by the jiggling flesh of her breasts, pushed high by the stays of her corset.

“Inside me, Jack,” she breathed, leaning forward slightly even as she reached beneath her concealing chemise skirt to guide his entrance.

Both of them moaned when he was seated fully inside her, and Phryne closed her eyes, setting her hands against his pectoral muscles as she began to move. Jack ran his hands up her sides to tug the square neckline of her corset just a little, allowing her nipples to pop over the top edge. He covered her bared breasts, capturing a hardened nub between the middle and fourth finger of each hand.

Phryne whimpered, and her hips sped up, his cock sliding almost all the way out of her body before she plunged down upon him again. Jack grunted a little, dropping one hand to prop himself up so that he could fasten his mouth around one nipple. Phryne threw her head back, a gust of air escaping her as she slammed her hips down against him, grinding her clit against his pelvic bone as he suckled at her breast.

Jack stroked back down her bodice, tracing the hard boning that ran from just beneath her breast to her waist, where the cloth flared out in a divided peplum. His hand ran warmly down her thigh and underneath the chemise, the transition from soft fabric to softer skin making him groan against her breast. Phryne began to move on him again, more slowly now, and his fingers followed the line of her thigh up to burrow between her legs to find her clitoris. He circled and pressed, stroked and slid in her moisture while she fucked him, her breath coming more and more quickly.

He glanced up to see her face, her eyes shut and her lower lip caught between her teeth as she concentrated on her pleasure.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, and she opened her eyes to look down at him, smiling slightly even as she panted.

He slid his fingers farther back and touched her where she was impaled upon him, feeling the hot stretch of her vaginal opening begin to flutter slightly as he pressed against it, slipping a fingertip inside her beside his cock. She gasped, and he moved his thumb to push at her clit even as he kept up the additional pressure at her opening. Her breasts bounced as she sped up her rhythm again, more frantic now, and he teased her clit with his thumb, alternating circles around it with light back-and-forth bats.

With a cry, she came, her pussy clenching around him, and Jack shouted, pulling out quickly to spend himself, shaking, against his belly while she sat atop his thighs.

“Jack, I lo--”

A knock at Jack’s cabin door woke him before she could finish. He blinked, cursing the crewman who’d kept him from hearing Phryne declare her feelings for him, if only in a dream.

“Shift change, lieutenant!” The yeoman’s voice was muffled by the closed door.

Jack responded automatically, “Aye then, on my way!”

He let out a heavy sigh and stood, adjusting himself and turning his thoughts toward his great-aunt Agatha and her bowel-loosening gooseberry pie; those memories were his best defense against inappropriate moments of arousal. A few moments later, his erection had subsided enough that he thought it’d go unnoticed, and he drew on his oilcoat and left his room to check on the new watchmen.

He’d have time enough later to revisit the idea of the words his sleeping mind had conjured from his captain, and to hope that one day he might hear them in truth.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Angra do Heroísmo, a small ancient city situated on the southern side of the island of Terceira in the Azores, was breathtakingly beautiful. Its whitewashed and red-roofed buildings were a stunning contrast to the vivid green of the forests and cultivated farmland that grew up in and around the city. Jack was amazed at how much attention he was willing to give the town, knowing that when he left here, it would be on _La Belle Dame._

He and Collins had been here for three days, and they’d taken it in turns to watch the marina for the arrival of that worthy vessel. Jack knew that he should explore farther inland when it wasn’t his shift, but he found himself unable to leave the view of the ocean; he explored the eastern seaward edge of the island, including the mountainous peninsula and a series of forts, some abandoned, some manned, that were scattered up and down the coast.

Today, Jack had walked up the coastline from the marina, stopping by a small restaurant to purchase a packet of Rissóis de Camarão—a pan-fried dumpling filled with lemony shrimp. He carried it up to the abandoned fort that was his day’s destination and found a spot on one of the crumbling walls where he could comfortably sit and watch the ocean as he ate. He savored the light crunch of the outer shell and the sweet brininess of the shrimp tucked inside, chasing the flavorful meal with swallows from a ceramic bottle of a local red wine.

The sun was warm on his face as he leaned back, curling one leg beneath him and dangling the other over the sharp drop down to the beach below. He had brought a book, but the idea of reading just now was not to his taste. He’d rather sit and bask, and daydream a little. It was strange—he hadn’t daydreamed since he’d been a boy, and those boyish dreams were filled with treasure, adventure, and derring-do. Now, as a man, his dreams were still about those things, but in a different form. The derring-do had changed the least—it took the form of participation in the raids undertaken by a pirate ship. Adventure was now pursuing a woman whose sense of self-worth was among the strongest he’d ever known. And the treasure? That was her heart—or at least her affection.

He sat there, content, as clouds scudded slowly across the sky overhead, lost to the world. Eyes closed, he enjoyed the juxtaposition of heat and cool caused by the movements of those clouds making their way across the sun and dragging shade across his face. When the shadow fell across him, he thought at first it was just a larger bank of clouds, but as the cool shade remained determinedly over him, he opened his eyes, thinking that perhaps a storm had moved in.

What he saw, however, was no storm—at least, it was no storm that could be ascribed to wind and weather. Captain Phryne Fisher stood there, resplendent in tan breeches, an ivory-and-gold waistcoat, and a peacock-blue frock coat, her tricorne hat set at a jaunty angle. She gazed down at him, her face inscrutable; she had cocked one eyebrow, and her hands were propped on her hips as she waited for him to notice her. He sat up slowly, turning to face her; he dropped his feet to the grass and his hands into his lap as he studied her closely for a long moment.

“Are you real, or yet another mirage conjured up by my imagination to torment me?” Jack’s words were softly spoken, and he watched as her stern face softened at the question.

“Dammit, Jack. I was prepared to give you a tongue-lashing for not being at the dock to meet me when I arrived, and then you had to go and say something like that.” She shook her head fondly at him, dropping her hands from her hips and stepping forward to stand between his spread knees and push her fingers into his hair. “I’m as real as anything in this world, and I was furious at you for making me wait even one more minute to see you again.”

Jack lifted his hands to her hips and pressed his face against her stomach, breathing in her scent as his arms wrapped around her to hold her close. She slid her hands from his hair down to hug him back, curling her body around his.

“Phryne Fisher,” he whispered. “Phryne Fisher.” His voice was stronger this time, and he looked up at her, a smile stretching his lips. Keeping his arms around her, he stood, chest to chest with her now, and kissed her. She kissed him back, as eventfully as she ever had, her hands gripping his shoulder and his queue as her tongue duelled with his. He lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek as he angled his head to kiss her even more deeply. When their lips parted to breathe, he said her name again, his thumb softly tracing her cheekbone. “Phryne Fisher,” and she smiled.

“Jack Robinson.”

With a shout of joy, he lifted her and spun, shouting her name to the sky. Her squeals of laughter as he twirled her around were the finest music, and the grip of her arms around his neck the sweetest pressure. Slowing, he let her feet down to the ground again, pressing his face into her shoulder as he held her close.

“I take it you’re happy to see me?” She laughed the words against his neck, her arms remaining tightly wound around him.

“More than I can say,” he said, his voice muffled against her coat collar. He lifted his head. “You are wearing far too much.”

She tilted her head and looked at him out of eyes gone hot with desire. “Have you a room in town, lieutenant? I find myself in need of a nap.”

Jack looked down at her, feeling his arousal growing. By the way Phryne arched against him, she could feel it too. He shook his head slowly.

“No, that’s too far.” He looked up, past her, to the fort walls. He’d been here most of the morning and had seen no one other than—thank god—Phryne. Pulling away from her, he pulled her by the hand to a corner of the ruined wall that was screened by a stand of trees. He turned to her, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Phryne’s smile was wicked. “Here, Jack?”

“Here, Phryne.” His voice was a growl, and he pulled her into a spin that ended with her back pressed up against the wall, his hands laid flat on either side of her head. Holding her eyes, he lifted a hand to remove her hat, dropping it carefully to the earth beside them.

He paused again, leaning into her, his eyes on her face. Phryne lifted a hand to trace a soft fingertip around the edges of his lips before pressing softly at the seam of his mouth. Jack opened to her, sucking the digit inside. Phryne’s mouth opened on a soft gasp, her eyes on his mouth and her finger disappearing between his lips. She tugged the finger in his mouth slightly sideways, tracing the edges of his teeth; Jack gently bit to hold it in place as his tongue swirled lightly around the tip. With a soft cry, Phryne broke, pulling her finger away and grasping Jack’s face with both hands as she rose on her toes to press her mouth to his.

This kiss was different from their earlier one—that had been a joyous hello, but this was a welcome home. Phryne captured his lower lip between both of hers first, biting softly at it, then soothing the tiny hurt with a sweep of her tongue; next, she angled her head and his, dipping her tongue into his deep philtrum before sliding it softly between his lips and settling her mouth over his. Her tongue flickered into and out of his mouth at first, and when he tried to respond, she pulled back, shaking her head, before diving back in. After a moment, Jack closed his eyes and let her kiss him, focusing on the taste of her and the warmth of her lips and tongue. The world narrowed to her mouth on his, her hands on his face, her breath mingling with his.

“Jack,” she whispered between kisses.

“Mmm?” He was groggy, drunk on sensation.

“Touch me.”

With a groan, Jack complied, his hands going to the buttons of her waistcoat. Beneath it, she wore her usual overlapped blouse, and it was a simple matter to smooth both layers open beneath her coat and put his hands on her bare breasts. When he felt her skin, he abruptly came back to greater awareness of the moment; her nipples were pebbled, and he flattened his hand to rub them in the hollows of his palms. Tilting his forehead against hers, he listened for Phryne’s gasp of pleasure and was gratified to hear it and to feel her arch against him.

Dropping to his knees, he opened his mouth over one of her breasts, his hands busy at the fastenings of her trousers. Phryne’s fingers combed into his hair as she laid her head back against the sunny stone. When her trousers were open, Jack lifted his head. Sliding his hands down her leg, he urged her to lift a foot so that he could tug off first one tall boot and then the other.

Setting her bare feet down in the soft grass at the base of the wall, Jack hooked his hands into her waistband. He met her eyes as he tugged the garment down and off, then dropped his eyes to see what her disrobing had revealed. He could smell her arousal, its heady scent raising another growl in the back of his throat. He nestled his nose in the spot where her thigh met her body; that fragrant hollow was one of his favorite places on Phryne’s body. Hooking one hand beneath her thigh, he helped her pull a leg up and over his shoulder, then buried his mouth in the folds of her sex. He licked the length of her first, tasting the juices of her arousal, then burrowed in to tease at her clit. He covered her in wide sweeps of his tongue, then in small flicking touches; he lightly pressed her sensitive flesh against the ridge of his teeth before reverting to those long, warm licks.

Phryne’s hands in his hair clenched at his caresses, and he moved lower, thrusting his tongue inside her body and then moving back up to flick and suck at her clitoris again. Jack lost himself in her flavor, in the sounds of her pleasure—moans and gasps and garbled words that either called to him or her creator. When he lightly raked her with his teeth again, she shuddered and cried out, her body bending over his head and her fingernails biting into his scalp with the force of her orgasm.

Sliding her leg down to the ground again, Jack rose to stand before her again, one hand moving to cup her breast as her breathing gentled; he dropped his other hand to the fall of his trousers, unbuttoning himself and and reaching inside to carefully free his erection.

“God, I’ve missed your mouth,” Phryne said, leaning in to kiss him and lick her moisture from around his lips. “And your hands,” she moaned as he ran his thumb over her nipple. “And… ohhh… your cock…” Her words sounded as if they were forced from her throat as he dipped his knees to line himself up and push into her body.

Fully hilted within her, Jack stilled, his heart pounding and his breath coming in great gasps. Phryne looped first one leg and then the other up and over his hipbone, pressing her shoulders against the wall. Jack moved to grasp her legs, his fingers pressing into the flesh at the backs of her knees.

“My hand was no substitute for this,” he rumbled against her cheek as he pulsed his hips, keeping himself sheathed within her.

“Jack…”

Drawing his hips back, Jack pulled almost all the way out of her body, then slid back in, pulsing at the top of his thrust. Keeping his cheek against hers, he listened to her shuddering breaths as he repeated the movement.

“I dreamed of this, of fucking you, every time I fell asleep.” His voice was low and rough. “I had you standing, sitting, from behind—every way my sleeping mind could conjure—and still it was not enough.” He continued the long strokes into and out of her body, accelerating from a single stroke and pulse combination to multiple strokes followed by small pulses. “I began to wonder—if I had not been given the opportunity to return to you, would I have dreamed of you forever?” He pressed a kiss to the hollow behind her ear as Phryne arched her neck, giving him access to the tender skin there.

“And would that have been a hardship, Jack?”

“Only in that it would have driven me mad with wanting—no matter how hard I would spend myself in the aftermath of those dreams, it was never even close to what I’ve felt with you.” His thrusts sped faster now, and Phryne’s body bounced with the force of them.

“I tried to forget you, Jack, I’ll admit it,” she panted in his ear, her arms tightening around his shoulders as his rhythm increased. “But no one else lived up to what I felt when I was with you. I can’t seem to get enough of—oh god, yes, there!”

He’d cupped his hands around her buttocks and tilted her pelvis just so, finding the angle he needed to bring her the most pleasure. He took advantage of it, heavy thrusts and slow pressing advances stimulating her in the ways he knew she loved.

He was aware of the heat of the sun on his back and buttocks, the scent of their bodies rising up to meld with that of the greenery around them and the rocky smell of the wall, and the warm, wet heat of her body around his. When Phryne’s orgasm rolled over her, he reveled as long as he could in the muscular contractions of her body around his cock; when he could no longer hold back, he pulled out of her, his cock laying flat between her thighs as he shuddered and spent himself against the wall behind her.

After they’d both caught their breath and Phryne had settled her feet on the ground again, legs sliding limply along his, Jack pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I wanted to be thankful for the time that we’d had and find a way to let it sustain me for the rest of my days,” he murmured, “but all I could think about was finding a way to get back to you.”

She smiled and tilted her head to kiss him softly before pushing him gently away to bend and find her clothing. “I finally decided that if I truly wanted you back on _La Belle Dame_ , I’d need to take drastic measures.”

Jack, his hands on his trouser fastenings, glanced up at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, my Aunt Stanley is a formidable woman,” she stepped into her trousers, pulling them up and over her hips. “I knew that if I told her that Uncle Edward had it in his power to reunite me with a man as honorable as you are, she would convince him to use that power to my advantage.”

Jack’s jaw dropped. “You had your aunt browbeat Admiral Stanley into reassigning me?” He wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or offended—he’d thought his work had been the reason for his transfer.

“Browbeat is such an ugly word, Jack!” Phryne’s face was genuinely surprised. “And if Uncle Edward had not had a use for you aboard my ship, believe me, he would not have acquiesced.” She tucked the ends of her blouse in and began to button her waistcoat. “No, Aunt Prudence was only the final push in a plan that I think he was already contemplating. After all,” she grinned at Jack as she bent to gather her boots and insert her feet into them, “apparently, my paperwork apparently lacked a certain attention to detail that yours had in spades.”

Jack laughed. “Well at least I know I have something to offer as part of your crew.”

“Oh, you offer more than that, Jack Robinson.” She sauntered closer. “Here, sit down a moment, I’ll fix your hair.”

He obliged her, moving back toward the short wall she’d found him on. She untied the lace he’d used to secure his short braid and combed her fingers into his hair to neaten it before tidily braiding it away. When she was done, she wrapped her hands over his shoulders and leaned forward, her head beside his as they looked out at the ocean. He could just see _La Belle Dame_ bobbing outside the long, thin harbor of town.

“There’s a whole world out there, Jack Robinson.” Her murmur in his ear sent a shiver down his spine, and he raised a hand to rest it on her forearm where it lay beneath his chin. “Shall we go see what wonders it holds in store for us?”

Jack nodded, his throat tight with—what? A mixture of joy and love and anticipation choked him. She wanted him, had called in special favors to get him with her. Whatever happened now, he would take the experience and wring every drop out of it.

She squeezed him and stepped back so that he could stand. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. “Lead the way, Captain Fisher. I will follow.”

“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

He nodded, then shook his head. “I will, I’m sure. But for now, the fact that we’re going together is enough for me.”

Her smile was as bright as the morning sun on the water, and she took his hand to lead him back to the ship.


End file.
